Bang bang
by DarkestHeir
Summary: What does it feel like to be shot?


Aiden was young.

Barley over the age of 16 when he got shot for the first time.

He had gotten his fingers hooked into gangs to survive, to make money, to help keep his mother and his sister alive and well.

His father?

Well his father could go rot in whatever hole and shell of a family they left him in back in Ireland.

Money was what he needed, his mother had a job but it was never enough to keep them steady.

Being non US citizens could do that to you.

Aiden trained himself at a young age, quickly got into trouble.

Quickly learned how to hide it all.

Hand to hand combat learned from picking fights, he used his surrounding, when adrenaline pushed him that extra edge and everything was tinted blue.

The world slowed.

And he went in.

He snuck out at late times and went into the horrible place they now called home and a neighborhood

Passing drug dealers and drug deals in the making, gun shots around the corner, mugging.

When he was 15 he tried and succeeded to stop a mugging, but he wasn't exactly a nice person, he wasn't thinking about others at the moment.

Just his family.

He had gotten the money from the mugger, whose nose had been broken and bent at a weird angle. The person was thanking him and he didn't want to hear it, he wasn't doing a good thing and he didn't want to see the happiness in this persons face, an unidentifiable person like the many others in the young boys head.

Aiden had reeled back, his stance hard but quick as he swiftly punched the person in the face just as he had done with the mugger, who rolled around on the floor in pain.

Aiden could feel the crack of bone under his knuckles and the swell of fresh blood as the person choked on air as the pain filled their head.

He didn't stick around though, he never did, instead he quickly turned and ran from the scene, tucking his hat lower as he held the wallet in his hand.

It's not like anyone in the business knew who he was, no he was careful, a mask on his face with tight gloves on his hand.

This was a business he needed to master to survive on and he was going to take the next step.

And Aiden worked for someone that could help him.

He wasn't sure who it was at the time and not now even now.

All Aiden knew was that is was a small chain the dealt drugs and fought smaller gangs.

He had smuggled drugs for a while, dealt some and beat other dealers in the area, and that was enough to feed them for a while, and it was enough for his reputation to grow.

Thats how he had gotten in the firefight.

It was small firefight of course, the two small gangs meshed together with over 10 people from each side.

Aiden was in the midst, the gun heavy in his hand as the adrenaline pumped through his body, making the world pulse and beat as it swirled blue.

He could clearly hear every pop of the gun, the smell of gunpowder as it misted through the air, the spill and clouds of blood as the bullets hit their intended target.

It was exhilarating, in a fucked up way to say the least.

Aiden was curled behind a metal shipping box as bullets pelted it, the rhythmic sound of bullets bouncing off as they hit and the occasional break through the steel gave Aiden something to keep as a timer for when to shoot.

There was a moment where bullets stopped for a few seconds and it was perfectly deadly clock work.

Aiden stood on his calves, peeking over the boxes and quickly scanning his surroundings before shooting, a cloud of blood, a scream, and he ducked again.

Clockwork.

There was also another ticking clock, and that was how long it would take for the Chicago police to arrive.

Aiden and the remainder of his 'crew ' that was still alive had 20 minutes at the most, they've been here too long and no one had gotten the blocks.

And maybe he was young and stupid because he murdered his own clock work as he took another peek over the box and went for it, moving quickly and maybe not silently.

He made it to another box, turned and peek around the corner, shot 2 guys in the head and one in the chest, and maybe he had grinned through that moment, his crew busying themselves with the skitting remainders of the competing gang.

Aiden climbed a metal staircase with prize in mind as he moved almost completely on his hands and knees, sliding on his left leg behind a barrel and sitting there to catch his breath as realization came to him that he was going to fucking do this.

He looked around the curve of the barrel to find a cowering man behind a fallen box, a briefcase in hand and Aiden sneered.

This was too easy.

Aiden wasted no time at all and sprinted over to the man, gun in hand and ready to shoot before something astonished him to stop and freeze on the spot.

Sirens, red and blue lights, the sounds of new and more powerful firearms.

Panic.

If he got caught in this he would be sent back to Ireland to be left in their justice system.

Aiden lunged forward and the guy looked at him with horror as he hit him over the head with the pistol.

Once, twice, three times, and Aiden wasn't sure if the excessive use of force had knocked the guy out or killed him as blood covered his hands and poured over the guys face but it was all irrelevant as he pushed the guys body away and grabbed the case and moved close to the railing were a board was pathetically attached for cover and sat there for a few heartbeats before peeking over.

The other gang members were blasting at each other and the cops as they swarmed the place.

He needed to get this briefcase, the blocks of coke, back to whatever gang leader he had started working for.

Aiden felt a bullet bounce of the shitty metal slab that was covering him and gulped, quickly moving towards the stairs and sighing in relief as he made it down with somehow no problem.

He was almost free.

He could provide his mother and his sister with what they needed, they could relax for a little while.

Aiden made his move to exit, the factory doors open wide and ready and he took his chance as he straightened out and sprinted through them.

The night air was rewarding but he wasn't out of the woods.

There was a shout, a crackle of radio and the next thing Aiden knew he was suffocating in adrenaline as a bullet tore through the skin of his thigh and pushed through, the bullet massacring Aiden's muscle and tissue in it's wake.

It felt like he was drowning but he couldn't feel anything at all.

The pain was non existent but he was aware of it, he was aware of the feeling of pain and the raw shock his body was receiving but he couldn't feel the pain.

Aiden tried to make a noise as he fell but his throat felt like is was being crushed as his mind went blank and a thick haze settled in his head as he pathetically turned to the cop that had shot him, his gloved hands shaking as the cop approached.

He let him come closer before Aiden used his last bit of strength to steady his left hand and pointed his gun right at the cop and didn't bother aiming properly before pulling the trigger.

The bullet hit the standing officer and he fell hard, blood pooling in the wound that lay waste to the man on the head and Aiden used the limp body as leverage to stand, holding onto the case with a death grip.

He was going to fucking die.

Aiden walked on for what could have been hours minutes or seconds but god he didn't know.

Every color in the world was mute and every sound sounded far away, distant, and he could feel each sound in his bones.

Every step he took made the nausea in his throat threaten to spill.

Eventually Aiden realized he had gotten to the drop off spot and he threw the briefcase to the floor and stumbled away from it all and later, managed to get home, all the while as blood spilled between his fingers as he clutched at his thigh.

He managed to make it home and surprisingly he made it home and patched himself up.

The pain was irrelevant, all that mattered was getting the money and surviving.

Aiden had taken a bottle of rubbing alcohol, a first aid kit, a sewing needle, and a lighter to get started.

The exit wound and entrance wound were both on the front of his leg, the bullet had passed right through the front of his thigh, meaning it hit nothing important, and thankfully it didn't hit his other thigh either.

He pretty much soaked his leg in rubbing alcohol, along with the needle and some thread.

Aiden removed almost all of his clothing except his underwear as he dried and heated the needle up, his teeth digging into his bloody shirt once he took a deep breath and held the needle in hand with a piece of cloth from his shirt.

God the money better be worth this.


End file.
